Stagnant

It amazes me how tied I feel to the sun.  We have had a dreary October and my production as a writer diminished dramatically.  When the sun reappeared I thought I was saved, but that was an illusion.  My ability to move forward and create lies within me.  The sun helps, but the drive comes from inside.  A poem surfaced as I tired to see my way forward.  Here it is.  Take it as you will.  Move forward as you can and so will I.

Movement



The blades of the turbine spin.
The air
moves them.
Or
do they move
the air?

How fast
does the wind slide
along their length?
I cannot feel it.
Yet I know
it must be blowing.

The grass bends beside me;
branches sway.
But I
am still.
My hair
lies
motionless
on my shoulders.

The turbine blades swing high overhead.
They move in the world.
Why can’t I?

~ Peace and movement